Page 60 of More Than Words

“Did you forget my name again?” I teased, turning toward him, watching his face go from confused to mildly insulted.

“You’re not that naïve, Is. I know those heathens in Wrigley call them dogs, but they also desecrated a classic.”

I tried not to laugh but couldn’t help myself. “No, Ad. I don’t need a sausage to fill my mouth right now. Maybe later.”

It may have been years since I attended a ball game, but I wasn’t completely clueless. I knew ballpark franks were apparently a religious experience at Fenway. Even though I’d never actually eaten one, Chicago dogs were something I’d always remember. As a child, I hadn’t been a fan of onions, but my dad loved them. The smell of those loaded hotdogs was something I’d always associate with summer and baseball.

“I’d be happy to help you out if you want it filled later,” he whispered, mirth in his eyes. If it were anyone else, I’d be shocked at him flirting so blatantly in front of his grandfather, but it was Adrian, so it wasn’t surprising at all. His sense of shame had left the building a long time ago, nowhere to be found. “My sausage seemed to fit pretty well.”

“I’m sure you would, but I’m here to watch some men in tight pants handle their bats, not flirt with you over ballpark wieners.”

As Adrian opened his mouth to respond, a booming, eerily familiar laugh sounded from behind my back as a warm shoulder settled against mine. “Did I hear yah say yah wanted to see some men playing with their bats? Sounds kinda kinky.”

My face flushed red as I turned, not expecting the rugged doppelgänger of the man on my other side.

“Aw, did I embarrass yah, sweetheart?” he chuckled, glancing over my shoulder to his brother. “Sounded like my brother had finally found someone who shared his affliction of telling thinly veiled dick jokes no one else finds funny.”

“Not all my jokes are about dicks,” Adrian laughed from behind me, his fingers squeezing the inside of my knee.

“But yah didn’t argue them not bein’ funny,” the bearded man to my left boomed before settling against his seat next to me.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was overcompensating for something,” Hutch whispered, leaning in closer, my shoulders instinctively moving toward Adrian, but I was trapped between the two of them. “But since we’re nearly identical, I know that’s not it.”

Blinking to clear my head, I gasped when Adrian’s warm lips grazed my earlobe. “Am I trying to overcompensate, Is?”

Wedged in between them, I was feeling overheated, but not from the bright late spring sunshine.

Working in editing romance novels for as long as I had, you’d think I’d almost be immune to fleeting fantasies of being shared by two men, but I was woefully unprepared to deal with the situation off the paper.

Thoughts of heaving chests and more than one set of warm lips tracing my exposed skin flooded my brain, and I was beginning to think maybe Adrian had been right about my genre. Maybe we were a bit obsessed with sex. Not that I was thinking about Adrian’s twin brother in that context. That would be wrong. Down girl.

But they did look alike. It had me wondering if Hutch’s comment about everything being identical was accurate. Sounded like a mystery that needed to be resolved.

With a yardstick.

There was something seriously wrong with me.

“He tryin’ tah mark his territory with this?” Hutch smirked as he playfully pulled at the brim of the hat on my head, drawing me out of my completely inappropriate line of thinking. Adrian had clearly been rubbing off on me.

Mmm…rubbing.

And it was official. Trapped between two equally built, equally desirable men, I’d lost my damn mind.

“Can you believe he wouldn’t let me wear my Cubs hat in here?” I whispered conspiratorially, still trying to study his features to see the differences between him and Adrian. Other than a few greenish flecks around his irises, if Hutch shaved his full beard and cut his hair, they’d be hard to tell apart.

Which was kind of freaky. It had me wondering how many poor unsuspecting souls they’d fooled when they were younger. I could see them using their identical looks as a challenge to befuddle people.

“Ah. I get it now. No wonder yah like Adrian. You’ve got a thing for pussies who can’t figure out how to score.”

My shoulders shook as I tried to hold in a laugh, biting my lip as Adrian’s warm breath ghosted over the side of my neck.

“Think I figured it out pretty well a few days ago,” he whispered, his hand gripping possessively on the inside of my bare thigh.

“With a little coaching, I think it’s salvageable,” I snickered, trying not to moan as Adrian dug his short fingernails into my flesh.

“Yeah. Diehard fans always say that until they get some new talent, and then they’re screaming for the new guy no problem the first time he hits a bomber.”

“Sometimes a little home team loyalty pays off when a struggling player figures out how to drive one home,” I quipped back with a grin.

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